


those who go, they don't come back

by Anonymous



Category: SMPLive, The Lunch Club Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate universe - train, Gen, Noah is just there, meant to be unsettling, newsboy Ted, ok but seriously, spooky train :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Josh says he’s the one in charge of the schedule. Josh doesn’t look him in the eyes when he asks what the schedule is. Josh says it’s not his job to worry about keeping time.Altrive’s job is to walk the aisles of the passenger cars and pick up trash and make sure nothing looks out of place. Altrive’s job is to make sure the passengers are happy. Altrive’s job is to keep his smile on and his mouth shut and Altrive’s job is to ignore the horrible jealousy in his stomach when Mason is allowed to step off the train to help them down.It’s an expected role for his level of experience.After all, Altrive hasn’t been working on this train for very long.~On the road to hell, there was a railroad line.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous





	those who go, they don't come back

**Author's Note:**

> hmn spooky train

Altrive hasn’t worked here for very long. 

When he’d stumbled across the train, he’d been so desperate for a job he hadn’t thought twice about the fact that most of the railways are overgrown, these days, the train cars recommissioned into canvases for graffiti artists not yet ready to graduate to buildings in the big cities. It had crossed his mind when he signed the contract that he hadn’t seen a piece of real paper in at least seven years, but the reassurance of a place to live and food to eat in exchange for his service was more than enough for him to ignore it. 

What did strike him as weird was the lack of a date or any official documentation on the contract. When he asked about it, Josh had shrugged and said what did it matter what year it was, anyway?

Josh still won’t tell him the date when he asks. Josh still won’t tell him the year.

Altrive remembers vaguely that coal ran out three years ago. He looks at the gas powered lights and the oil lamps and remembers a better way to see in the dark. He remembers all these things with growing trepidation, he remembers all these things with a creepy uncertainty, he remembers all these things until one day, he doesn’t.

After losing count of the days-weeks-months-pleasenotyears he’s been on board, Altrive looks around the interior of the train and cannot remember anything but what he sees.

When he realizes that, when he finds he can’t even recall the name of his hometown, he desperately clings to his fading memory of airplanes, of cars, of bullet trains, of subways -

Josh says he’s getting tired of Altrive’s questions. Josh looks at him with eyes too sharp to belong here.

Of airplanes, of cars, of bullet trains, of, of - 

Mason says he should drop it. No, he doesn’t know what year it is, either.

Of airplanes, of cars, of -

Josh tells him he shouldn’t worry so much. Josh won’t tell him the year. 

Of airplanes -

Josh says he’s the one in charge of the schedule. Josh doesn’t look him in the eyes when he asks what the schedule is. Josh says it’s not his job to worry about keeping time. 

Altrive’s job is to walk the aisles of the passenger cars and pick up trash and make sure nothing looks out of place. Altrive’s job is to make sure the passengers are happy. Altrive’s job is to keep his smile on and his mouth shut and Altrive’s job is to ignore the horrible jealousy in his stomach when Mason is allowed to step off the train to help them down.

It’s an expected role for his level of experience. 

After all, Altrive hasn’t been working on this train for very long. 

~

Noah has the train car all to himself. Noah is fine with this. 

It does not make him uneasy to see what should be a full car inhabited by him alone. It does not make him uneasy that he remembers boarding this car with at least ten other people.

He supposes he’s not truly alone - an attendant, dressed in a uniform that is far too casual in Noah’s opinion, hovers aimlessly by the beverage cart. 

Noah decides to give him something to do. It is not because the eerie silence is crawling its way under his skin.

“Altrive,” he reads hesitantly from the boy’s nametag, stumbling a little over the odd pronunciation. Perhaps it’s the lad’s last name. Regardless, it does its job.

“Yes sir,” the boy says. “How may I help you?”

“Could I have a glass of water?”

“Sure,” Altrive says, shooting a strange look at Noah’s clothes. Like he’s never seen them before. Like they should be something else.

Noah clears his throat. Slang terms and staring? What kind of employees does this rail company hire?

“I mean. Of course, sir, sorry sir,” Altrive winces, and picks up the water pitcher.

Noah sits back and stares out the window. They must be going through a tunnel - it’s completely black outside. Strange. He didn’t remember there being tunnels en route from New Jersey to - to -

Where was he going, again?

Altrive clears his throat, startling Noah with how close he is. “This may be a weird question,” he says as Noah takes the proffered cup, “but what year is it?”

“What year is it?” Noah laughs, “it’s -“

What year is it? Noah comes up disturbingly short.

What year is it? Where was he going, again? 

His mind blanks. The unsettled ball in his stomach is back.

What is he doing on this train?

“That’s okay,” Altrive says sympathetically. “No one else can tell me, either.”

Noah shakes his head. There’s an explanation for this. “I’m going on a trip,” he says, though Altrive hasn’t asked. He pats his luggage case on the seat beside him. “It’s going to be about a week. It’s on this new White Star liner, they say it’s unsinkable.”

What was the ship’s name? The Atlantic? Noah starts to panic. 

“Unsinkable?” Altrive blinks. 

“Not even God himself could sink her,” Noah repeats distantly, reaching up to his forehead. He isn’t running a fever. “The, uh. The.”

“The Titanic,” Altrive says, sudden, surprised at himself.

Noah doesn’t know if that’s right. “Yes,” he says anyway. It would not do to have the boy think he’s mad.

Maybe he is. He frowns at his bag beside him, looks around the empty train car.

Where was he going, again?

“You shouldn’t go.” Altrive shifts uneasily. “You shouldn’t get on that ship.”

“What ship?” Noah asks. “We’re on a train.”

Altrive opens his mouth, freezes, snaps it shut. 

Before Noah can say anything, ask if he’s alright, the train horn blares. 

“Arriving in New York City,” comes a deadened voice, plucked from the air itself. The brakes squeal, and with a horrible churning crunch the train begins to slow down.

The window clears. The city of New York comes yawning into view.

Noah squints at Altrive. “Are you feeling alright?”

The boy looks pale, staring out at the skyline, jaw clenched as though it was wired shut. “Fine, sir,” he says. “Uh. Welcome to New York City. I hope you enjoy your stay.” 

With those words, the train screeches to a stop.

“Surely.” Noah picks up his case, straightens up his sleeves. “Though I’ll only be here a few days. I’m scheduled to get on the Titanic, you know.”

Altrive looks almost relieved. “Oh?”

Noah grins. He’d been lucky to secure his ticket, and it feels good to brag about it. “It’s coming from Queenstown, across the Atlantic. I’ll be making the trip back. They say it’s unsinkable, and several national celebrities are on board. Even the Strauses have a cabin.”

Altrive merely nods again. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He sounds exhausted.

The car door is heaved open by a haggard looking boy, covered in coal dust. Are there so few personnel on this train that the stokers double as porters? 

“Right this way, sir,” the boy grins, jumping onto the platform below and pulling down the stairs. 

Noah steps into the fresh air, an odd weight lifting off his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Before the stoker can shut the car door, Altrive calls after him. “Wait!”

Noah frowns, turning, something in him screaming to run as far away from the train as possible.

“What year is it?” Altrive almost begs. “Please.”

The question tears through his ears, into his brain. He hates the subsequent fear that comes with it. “That’s enough, boy, I have to be going.” 

Altrive lets out a laugh that sounds far too tired for his age. The stoker slams the car door in his face, and Noah hurriedly takes the last step off the train.

After leaving the station, he thinks maybe it was cruel not to humor the boy, but he can’t remember the question that had been asked.

After a night’s rest, he can’t remember the boy’s name.

One week later, when the headlines are full of nothing but tragedy, he is only able to recall the horror in the attendant’s eyes and wonders how he knew.

And eventually, Noah doesn’t remember anything at all.

~ 

Josh knows what’s going on. Always has. Always will. 

Always, always, always, he mutters to himself, and can’t summon the energy to laugh at himself, this time.

He’d been the first one on this godforsaken train - or at least, that’s what Mason had told him. Josh doesn’t/didn’t/won’t leave his cabin long enough to find out. He doesn’t go looking for wanderers. If they’re meant to be here, they’ll find him.

He was alone, at first, and keeps it that way, now. The passengers got on/sat down/forgot why they were there/left in silence. Josh didn’t/doesn’t/won’t bother with introducing himself to people who will never remember his face.

Until Mason. Mason comes to see him, sometimes. Mason does his job and keeps out of the way of the passengers and the train. Mason doesn’t ask questions. Josh likes this about Mason.

Until Altrive. Altrive fights the fog behind his eyes. Altrive shudders in time with the train and talks to the passengers and tries every jump to find out what year it is. Josh hopes he’ll grow out of it.

Until - well. That hasn’t happened yet, probably.

These days, Josh spends most of his time leaning out the window/staring into the void/clasping his hands over his ears. It doesn’t stop the screaming of the engine. It doesn’t stop the announcements. It doesn’t stop the names of place after place after place crashing into his head. But it helps, a little, and he’s getting used to the noise already/little by little/finally. 

The rest of his waking hours are spent bent over the intercom he doesn’t think trains have, repeating names of cities and places until his voice is nothing more than a quiet rasp. He’s forgotten how to speak in anything but monotone. He’s forgotten many things.

He has not forgotten why he’s here, how he’s here, what’s keeping him here. He never has. He never will. 

Never, never, never, he mutters to himself, and then pushes the button on the intercom.

“Arriving in New York City.”

~

Ted isn’t quite sure why he got on this train. Something to do with the stolen purse in his hands, probably. 

He shakes his head, slightly dazed from his collision with the police officer. What does he remember? 

He’d hopped on board the train, effectively hidden in the mass of people boarding it. He must have been running pretty hard, too - he’s out of breath. When all of his senses come back, he finds himself in the middle of a deserted car, probably close to the engine due to how much it’s shaking.

There’s a layer of dust on the seats. The oil lamps look depleted. Beneath his feet, the wood slats creak and shudder a lonely melody. It’s unsettlingly cold in here. 

Anxious about being found despite the lack of evidence that this train carries anyone but him, Ted backs himself into the corner, and prays no one can hear the shouts of the policemen on the platform. To his immense relief, the conductor doesn’t listen to them. In fact, it’s almost like the train hadn’t ever been stopped, and it pulls steadily away from the station. 

Ted hastily opens the purse, rifling through it, searching for the coins he’d seen the lady put away. They weigh heavy in the bottom of the bag. He scoops them out with a smile and throws the purse under the benches where it will hopefully stay until he’s far from the scene of the crime. 

There’s dinner for him and Moses for the next week, secured - maybe even enough to buy something for Madi. He stands and pockets the change and thinks about his next course of action, of how to get back to - uh. To. Maybe he should find a map. 

Maybe the policeman’s baton had hit his head a little harder than he’d thought.

Before he can make another move, the car door slides open. Ted tenses, ready to run -

It’s a kid.

“Oh,” he says, pulling up short halfway into the room. His face is lined with soot in a mockery of age. “I’m sorry.”

The kid’s grimy clothes and hunched stature are reminiscent of his own faded suspenders and worn shoes. “No problem,” he decides to say. “’s a free train car.”

The kid laughs. His eyes stay squinted at him. “Yeah. That’s funny. Well, I’m not supposed to talk to passengers, really, so -”

“Why not?” Ted asks.

“Josh says it’ll just make things worse.” 

“Josh,” Ted drawls, “don’t know what he’s talking about. Listen, kid, what’s your name?”

“Mason.” 

“Alright, Mason.” Ted tries his best for a disarming smile. “How’s about this - you don’t tell this Josh fella I’m here, and I’ll give you this penny.”

He fishes one out of his pocket. He hates to give away his hard-earned money, but he doesn’t have a ticket, and if Mason’s boss finds out he’s here he’ll never get off this train. Besides, there’s more coins there than he remembers. He should know better than to carry so much on him.

The boy looks conflicted, shaking his head at Ted’s offer. “I don’t want Josh to get mad.” He looks at Ted with wide eyes, something cloudy and disturbing behind them. “Things happen when Josh gets mad.”

Ted doesn’t like the sound of that. Mason is Ted’s age, probably, and Ted knows firsthand that kids like them get the short end of the stick when it comes to work. 

“What’s your job?” he asks, though the coal dust gives it away.

“Stoker,” Mason says, almost proudly. “I keep the engine running.”

“Sounds important. How much you get paid?” 

Mason frowns. “I - uh. I don’t.”

Ted blinks. “You don’t.”

Mason shrugs. “I live here. There’s food and stuff.” 

“So it’s indentured servitude?” Ted asks. He’s not sure exactly what it means, but from the vacant stare Mason’s giving him, he doesn’t know either. “Whatever. Listen, when we get to the next stop, how’s about you come with me? I’ve got a good gig with the local paper, I can hook you up -”

Mason winces so hard he almost folds in half. “I can’t,” he interrupts. “Josh won’t -”

“Josh sounds like a terrible manager,” Ted snaps. “Does he even let you off the train?”

“I get to help people down,” Mason says defensively. “And Josh is just looking out for me.”

“Sure he is. That’s why you can’t talk to anyone. Cause they’d see right through it, like I am.”

Mason splutters. “No! And why would I go with you, anyway? I don’t even know you.”

It’s a good question. Ted doesn’t know why, really, but something in him tells him that this train is no place for a child.

“It’s better out there with someone to watch your back,” Ted says. “And I got no one back home.” It’s true. When he thinks of his life, he comes up empty. Something is wrong with this, and yet nothing is wrong with this, and Ted can’t comprehend anything beyond the feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong.

Mason stares at him, something shifting behind his eyes. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Plus, you’re getting scammed, here -”

“Where’s home?” Mason interjects. “Where are you from? Where are you going?”

“I’m -” Ted stops. “I’m going to the next stop.”

“What’s the next stop?” Mason pesters. His eyes gleam, now, bright with a sad understanding. 

“Shut up,” Ted hisses, voice shaking. “Why does it matter?”

“Arriving in New York City,” comes a voice from the ceiling. Ted jumps. Mason doesn’t.

The train howls to a stop. The windows flare with sunlight. Ted shudders, whole body tensed in an animalistic fear. “I’ve gotta go,” he murmurs. There’s no sign of the police on this platform, the stolen money jangles in his pocket, good. Moses is probably waiting for him. 

Mason smiles at him, but it’s wrought with a pain that goes so much deeper than anything Ted will ever know. “Let me get the stairs.”

When Ted runs off the train, he forgets he’d spoken to anyone. 

And when Moses asks him where he’s been, Ted finds he honestly can’t answer him.


End file.
